


Better Homes and Dungeons

by abstractconcept



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Curtain Fic, Decorating, Fetish, Humor, M/M, literal curtain fic, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4214568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape discovers Harry has an unusual fetish and sets out to indulge it. How far will he go to keep his man satisfied? Pretty damned far, as it turns out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Homes and Dungeons

**Title:** Better Homes and Dungeons  
**Author:** Abstract Concept/[](http://the-con-cept.livejournal.com/profile)[ **the_con_cept**](http://the-con-cept.livejournal.com/)  
**Other pairings/threesome:** Just Snarry, though Draco is around . . . mostly for decoration. (YEEEEEAH!!!)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word count:** 8,100+  
**Warning(s):** (highlight for spoilers) * Occasional puns, AU, fetishes, established relationship, voyeurism/exhibitionism and literal curtain!fic.*  
**Prompt:** Wildcard #1; Author’s choice.  
**Summary:** Snape discovers Harry has an unusual fetish and sets out to indulge it. How far will he go to keep his man satisfied? Pretty damned far, as it turns out.  
**A/N:** Thanks to A for the fabulous beta job, as always. All further mistakes are mine.

 

  
** Better Homes and Dungeons  **  


It was well past midnight when Severus returned to his chambers. The lights were out; Harry had probably been asleep for some time, judging by the hush of the room. Snape quickly disrobed, toed his shoes off, then hurried across the freezing dungeon stones to slip into the warm bed beside his partner.

Severus curled closer to Harry like a coil of smoke around a flame.

“Want to fuck?” he purred.

Harry screamed so loud Severus nearly fell out of bed. “What the hell are you _doing?_ Your feet are like _ice!_ ” Harry snarled.

Severus let out a long, low hiss of frustration. “Excuse me for not being able to regulate my body temperature according to your whims.”

“This has nothing to do with my whims,” Harry retorted. “Trust me, no one likes feet that cold suddenly rubbing on their shins.”

Snape glared. “Are you in the mood for lovemaking or not?” he demanded.

“Even if I had been, Mr. Deepest Siberia Feet, I sure as bloody hell wouldn’t be anymore.”

Snape huffed. “You’re _never_ in the mood.”

“If you’d install some nice wall-to-wall carpeting in the bedroom, you wouldn’t have to deal with my suddenly icy libido, would you?”

Severus ran his fingers down the nape of Harry’s neck. “You’re sulking,” he said with sudden realization.

“It’s ten at night,” Harry grumbled.

“I had papers to grade. It’s part of being a professor.”

“ _I’m_ a professor, and I _never_ come home after eight at the latest.”

“Quidditch is not exactly a cerebral class.” Snape actually _felt_ Harry bristle at that, going all stiff and still. “That is to say—if one doesn’t learn it _on_ the broom, one isn’t likely to learn it from reading books and writing papers. Which makes grading papers—or even assigning them—somewhat pointless.”

Harry softened a little. “That’s true,” he said, allowing himself to be placated just a little. “Well. Next time try to get home a little earlier, would you? I might be more in the mood if you didn’t come home after I’d finished the second bottle.”

“Second bottle of what?”

“Chateau de Snape—whatever wine it is you keep in the kitchen.”

“You drank two bottles? Starting when?”

“Right about seven, which was when I gave up on you joining me for dinner.”

Harry _was_ sulking. He seemed to do that a lot these days. Snape felt like something was slipping away. He wound one not-so-chill arm around Harry, expecting to be pushed away.

But Harry hummed in contentment, turned over in Snape’s arms, pressed himself to Snape’s body, almost matching warmth for warmth. “I love you too,” he said, voice muffled against Snape’s chest.

Snape gathered him in carefully, drank in Harry’s heat and profession of love. It wasn’t sexual satisfaction, but it was the best he would get tonight.

* * * * *

“He’s bored with me,” Snape said despondently.

“Naturally,” Draco replied, draining his gin and tonic. “You don’t throttle him nearly enough.” He poured himself another glass. “Learn to keep your relationship more exciting. Break out the whips more often.”

Snape ignored him and eyed his own glass, almost empty, and gave it a quick tilt, watching the remaining amber liquid slosh around the bottom. “He’s definitely bored. Ready to move on to greener pastures.”

Draco sat up suddenly. “ _I’m_ greener pastures,” he said. “I mean, you know. If you’re going strictly by the greenness _of_ the pasture, then certainly mine is greener than yours.”

“You either need a lesson in anatomy or an appointment with a mediwizard,” Snape said grumpily.

“You know what I mean. I wouldn’t, of course. I wouldn’t stoop to that.” He had the grace to blush, holding his glass in front of his face. “I just meant that it wouldn’t be _all_ bad.”

“What are you prattling on about?”

“It’s _hard_ being a professor at Hogwarts. You’re _isolated_. I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind looking back, that’s all. Sure, we had our troubles as children—who didn’t? But he turned out to be quite fuckable in the end, didn’t he? I mean, we _fight_ a lot, sure. But I have room in my personal vocabulary for _many_ words that begin with f, if you take my meaning.”

Snape eyed the brat. “How many have you had?”

Draco tried to focus on the bar top in front of him. “Seven? I dunno. How many have _you_ had? ‘Cause I’ve had the same number you’ve had. That’s _exactly_ how many I’ve had.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I think.”

“You’re a drunk and an idiot,” Snape said, drawing himself up with sudden haughty arrogance. “And useless to boot. Oh, and by the way—” He snatched the front of Draco’s robes in his fist, hauling him forward until they were nose to nose. “ _Potter is mine._ I suggest you not bring up greener pastures again unless you’re looking to be thoroughly mown.”

Draco peered at him, goggle-eyed in that special way only the severely inebriated can manage. “All right, all right. It was just idle speculation,” he said as Snape gave him a rough shake, which caused him to suddenly look rather more alert. “I wouldn’t. I’m your friend,” he pointed out.

Snape grunted and slapped a couple of sickles down on the bar top. “And I always did manage to acquire such _thoughtful_ and _selfless_ friends.” He sighed again.

As he stood and tried to sweep away, he became aware of something heavy attached to his sleeve, which turned out to be Draco.

“You really think he’s going to leave you?” Draco asked.

Snape shrugged.

“Well, I don’t,” Draco informed him.

Snape patted his head and tried to jerk his cloak free. “I should get back. He doesn’t like me staying out late any more than anything else I do.” He made it to the door, but it was a bit of an effort.

“But if he _does_ —” Draco muttered. Snape ignored him, still trying to lurch away from the lights of Hogsmeade into the rainy night, Draco Malfoy still clinging to him like a blond barnacle. “But if he does,” Draco repeated loudly, “I’ll be there.”

Snape stopped and squinted at him, the rain trickling off the end of his nose. “You’ll what?”

“Be around. You know. If you want a boy-toy on the rebound.”

Snape passed a hand over his face. “Good grief, you’ll proposition anything that stands still long enough.”

“What do you expect? I work at a boarding school!” Draco exploded. “I’m sexually frustrated! I need a good lay!”

“You need a swift curse in the arse, that’s what you need,” Snape grumbled. “Come on, let’s get back.”

“What, are we _walking_?” Draco complained. “It’s well after dark. And it’s raining and it’s cold out!”

“The walk should sober us up,” Snape said primly. “And besides, you could certainly use a cold shower.”

* * * * *

When he returned to his chambers, Snape could hear noises from the bedroom. Apparently Potter was still up. He crept to the door quietly, hoping to have a chance to evaluate Potter’s mood before entering. The last time he came home drunk he’d got a boot hexed in the direction of his head the moment he opened the door.

“Hmmm, nice,” Harry murmured. “Yeah, that’s _niiiiiice._ ”

That sounded hopeful. Perhaps Potter was indulging in a little onanism since Snape had stepped out for the evening. And it was just possible it was putting him in a good mood. Perhaps he’d even be amenable to allowing Snape to join in.

He cracked the door open. Harry was curled on his side on the bed, reading a magazine. Ah, a _magazine_ , Snape thought. Marital aids were all very well and good. He’d had trouble interesting Potter in trying such things in the past, but it seemed Harry had discovered them on his own.

“Ooooh, will you look at that wood,” Harry murmured, practically drooling. “ _Hard_ wood.”

“Someone I should be jealous of?” Snape asked, only half joking.

Harry jumped and went for his wand, and the magazine tumbled to the floor. “Don’t creep up on me like that!”

“Apologies. It’s a difficult habit to break.” Snape summoned the magazine and flipped through its pages, frowning. “Potter, this isn’t pornography.”

“Gee, thanks for noticing. I know you have a real high opinion of my literary tastes, but that was kind of a rude remark.”

Snape didn’t hear. He was staring at the page; hardwood floors stretched from wall to wall, an elegant imported wood bar was the focal point of the room, and there were all sorts of notations about the German throw rug, the suede upholstery on the chair . . . “I didn’t know you were aroused by this sort of thing,” he said absently.

“I— _what?_ ”

Snape heaved a sigh and sat beside him on the bed. “You needn’t get defensive. If you like hardwood floors, you like hardwood floors. As long as they’re consenting hardwood floors, I see no issue.”

Harry groaned, covering his face with both hands. “You’re joking.”

Snape shrugged. It was nice to think Harry could still be sexually stimulated by _something_ these days. “You do know I support you and I’ll not judge even your oddest fantasies. Say,” he added with sudden inspiration, “would it help if I did the dungeons in hardwood floors?”

Harry slowly lowered his hands, peeking out suspiciously. “You mean, you’d let me redecorate?”

“If that’s what excites you.” Snape looked at him for a long moment. “Could you picture it? The two of us, writhing naked on your hardwood floors?”

Harry looked briefly at the cold dungeon stones, some of which had mould in the cracks. “ _Yes,_ ” he said vehemently. “I would happily fuck you all over every _inch_ of those hardwood floors.”

Snape rewarded him with a sharp smile. “Let’s do the whole place in hardwood,” he suggested.

Harry flung himself into the man’s arms. “Oh, _Severus!_ ”

And he was hard, too. So very wonderfully hard, even if it was a hardwood floor that got him randy, and not Severus himself. Severus nuzzled his neck, running the very tip of his tongue along the reddening shell of Harry’s ear even as his hands slid lower…

“Oh, _Severus_ . . .” Harry repeated.

New flooring. It’d be expensive, but worth every Knut.

* * * * *

Snape prowled round the furniture store the same way a panther would have stalked the jungle. His eyes glared balefully, his shoulders slouched, his feet made no noise. He was entirely ready to leap upon the first salesperson he saw and savage them.

“Severus, you’re really not getting into the spirit of this, are you?” Harry asked with a sigh.

“Shopping is not among the pursuits I find enjoyable, no,” Snape answered. But the floors had lasted a couple of weeks, and now Harry had begun growing cantankerous about the chairs. Severus couldn’t see what was so wrong with the chairs. He’d had them forever—been in the Prince family for generations. So what if the occasional centipede skittered out during teatime? If Mr. Weasley weren’t so terrified of insects, there wouldn’t have been any problem at all.

Slowly Severus became aware that Harry was giving him a rather soulful look. “But darling, bat-of-my-dreams, I really _need_ a new chair or two. Just one tiny chair,” he added, touching the arm of one and running his fingers over it salaciously.

Snape grunted. He supposed it couldn’t really _hurt_ to have a new chair, or two at the outside.

“Ooooo, feel _this_ one, Severus,” Harry cooed. “It’s a _Bauhaus_.”

“Good Gods, Potter, do you know how much an original Bauhaus chair usually costs? It would be like sitting on several hundred Galleons!”

“But much more comfortable.” Harry knelt by the thing, one hand still obscenely caressing every inch of the chair he could reach. “And anyway,” he cajoled, “ _this_ one isn’t so expensive; it’s been reupholstered.”

“Oh?” Severus bent and looked at the tag. It wasn’t a price out in orbit, but it was still fairly expensive. “Well . . .”

Harry draped himself over the chair, fingers playing over the upholstery. He lowered his voice to something between a growl and a whisper. “Black leather. You’d look awfully good on black leather.”

Snape’s eyes followed Harry’s hands moving ever so sinuously up and down the chair. He licked his lips. “It _is_ nice . . .” he admitted slowly.

Harry slid fully into the chair, undoing the top few buttons on his robes, his legs splayed, his lips pursed just a little. Now he was no longer playing with the chair; his hands had begun a leisurely exploration of his own body. He trailed fingertips down the side of his neck, his head lolling, his eyes half-shut. “Ohhhh, _Severus,_ ” he groaned.

Snape could feel himself hardening at Harry’s voice—and softening towards the idea of new furniture. “It certainly is a very tempting chair.”

Finally, a salesperson Apparated into their midst. “And I’ll throw the ottoman in free,” he said, grinning at Snape broadly.

Wretched creature; he’d been waiting somewhere and watching until he thought he was in a good bargaining position. Well, Snape would show him an interesting bargaining position or two; he’d put the man on all fours with that ottoman shoved right up his arse. See how _that_ kind of bargaining position worked out for him.

He was just about to draw his wand and get started when Harry groaned again.

“Isn’t it a little hot in here?” Harry asked. Snape looked at the boy’s robes; the Bauhaus chair wasn’t the _only_ thing half off around here. Harry gave a lazy grin. “I think you should get me home as soon as possible . . . and get me some ice to help cool me down,” he murmured.

Potter! And ice! And nakedness and being ridden hard against the soft leather seats of that Bauhaus chair! Snape was rocked back on his heels a moment. “We’ll take it,” he said once he’d recovered.

“Sold!” The salesperson grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously.

* * * * *

“Hello, lover.”

Snape stopped short. His dungeons were almost completely transformed. Now instead of walking into a dingy, cluttered little hole, there were gleaming wood floors, inviting furniture, a roaring fire in the fireplace.

And Harry. Naked. Stretched out on a thick white rug.

“What’s all this?” Snape murmured, mesmerized. He went to put his cloak on the coat rack, but the coat rack (which had listed to one side) was gone. Snape’s cloak fell to the floor instead, but he hardly noticed.

“What this?” Harry asked, eyes round and innocent. “The new-rug-this or the naked-me-this?” He ran a languid hand down his body.

Snape swallowed. “All this, encompassing both the new rug and the naked you,” he said.

Harry laughed a husky little laugh. He nuzzled his flushed cheek against the soft white rug, a coquettish smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

“Yes, it’s an inviting rug,” Snape said dryly. “Is it soft?”

Harry nodded. “Actually, it’s spun from Yeti hair. They shed a lot.”

Severus made a face. “I’m going to try to forget you mentioned that.”

Harry grinned, sitting up. “I can make you forget I mentioned that,” he offered. His prick was half hard, thick and twitching, and stiffening quickly.

Snape nodded a little. Harry could make him forget his own name if he put his mind to it. He dropped to the floor himself, if a little gingerly. He’d been ill-used during the wars against the Dark Lord, and his body rarely let him forget it.

Still smiling, Harry laid back down, the thick, fleecy material holding his naked body sensually. He looked like a debauched angel, sprawled naked on a cloud.

“ _About_ to be debauched,” Snape corrected himself aloud.

“Um. What?” Harry replied, raising his eyebrows.

“As in, prepare to,” Snape told him.

“Oh,” Harry said. Then, “ _Oh!_ ” as Snape bent over his form, kissing the tender place on his neck just beneath his ear. It was one of Harry’s erogenous zones, and true to form, Harry began to squirm at this ministration.

“You like that?” Severus asked in amusement, sitting back on his haunches. “No,” he warned as Harry made to stroke himself.

With a question in his eyes, Harry reached out to unbutton Severus’ robes.

“No, none of that, either,” Snape responded. “For the moment, I want to concentrate on _you_.”

Harry grinned broadly, interlocking his fingers behind his head. “Well, all right then, hotshot. Let’s see what you can do, all on your own.”

Snape couldn’t help but smile. Harry seemed so much more relaxed these days, more like his old self.

“What I can do, all on my own, eh?” he said, eyeing Harry speculatively. Harry promptly began to turn red and curled in on himself a little bit, still a bit shy about displaying his naked body, even after all these years. It was, Snape reflected, rather disgustingly charming.

“Where shall I start?” Severus mused.

“The beginning’s generally a good place,” Harry retorted, eyes twinkling.

“Saucy little brat,” Snape replied. “I think I’ll start at the bottom and work my way up.” So saying, he pulled one of Harry’s feet into his lap.

“There’s nothing sexy about feet,” Harry protested.

“No? I disagree. Your feet are at least three times more alluring than the average person’s foot,” Snape assured him. “They’re soft and smell quite nice, for one thing,” he added, cradling Harry’s foot and pressing it to his face.

“Well, that’s because I just got out of the bath. I wanted to smell nice for you. And I do have anti-callus spells in my footwear.”

“I always said you were a wild romantic,” Snape teased. “Nevertheless, your foot . . . is a sexy foot.” He emphasized the words by running his tongue over Harry’s warm pink toes, which twitched ticklishly. “For one thing, consider your arch.”

“What about it?” Harry asked, mesmerized by the way Snape was stroking his calf.

“I favour such slight, warm indentations. A good place for a kiss,” he added demonstrating, “or even to frot against.”

“Frot—like—”

“Would you like that? There are times when I want any bit of you I can reach. I should dearly love to pin you down and rut against each and every square inch of your flesh.”

Harry’s eyes were wide. “When you put it like that, it actually sounds hot.”

Snape smiled fiendishly, pushing Harry’s legs apart until they were splayed widely. He ran greedy hands up the inside of Harry’s thighs. “Of course, you do have other moderately attractive bits as well,” he said, watching in amusement as Harry’s prick stiffened even further, a bubble of pre-come welling up in the slit.

Potter’s face was flushed, his skin warm and his eyes filled with heat. “Jesus, Snape, touch me more,” he said hoarsely.

Snape kissed the inside of one knee.

Potter’s hands turned into fists of frustration, but still he managed not to touch himself or Snape. “You _know_ that’s not what I meant.”

“And _you_ know I enjoy torturing you,” Snape retorted. He flickered the tip of his tongue, soft as a summer raindrop, over the smooth surface of Harry’s thigh. Harry shuddered and moaned.

“Little higher,” he said urgently.

Snape hid a smile and did as he was asked, pressing his open mouth to Harry’s abdomen. He felt a pang of lust in his own stomach, abrupt and potent, as Harry’s prick brushed his cheek.

“ _Fuck_. You really are a—a—” Harry said, groping futilely for the right words.

“Generous lover?” Snape supplied.

Harry glowered at him. “Not the phrase I was looking for.”

“Incredibly talented and arousing man? Gloriously well-endowed partner?”

“ _No_. Well, yes, but no.”

“Unapologetic, depraved and unrivalled sadist?” Snape asked innocently, deigning to lick the head of Potter’s prick.

“ _Yes,_ ” Harry yelped. Snape wasn’t sure if the boy was responding to his words or his tongue, but he didn’t much care.

“Wanton, needful creature,” Snape purred. He grasped Harry’s cock and pumped it, watching Harry’s eyes slam shut.

“S-s-s-” the boy susurrated, writhing.

“Hah,” Snape said with great satisfaction. Harry always stuttered when he was very aroused. Snape rolled atop the boy, pressing their pricks together. Harry made to grab his shoulders. “No!” Snape barked. Harry moaned piteously. Snape had mercy and took Harry’s wrists, pinning them down. “Just a bit more,” he promised, rutting against the boy.

“ _Ohgodjustlikethat_ ,” Harry blurted.

Snape began to rock against him, feeling randy and out-of-control as a schoolboy. It had been a long time since he’d been excited enough to get off on frottage, but right now he was fairly certain he’d manage it. How could he help it, with Harry wailing beneath him, his mouth open wide, his eyes glazed, purposely helpless as Snape held him down?

Harry was beginning to babble, music to Snape’s ears. It was mostly _ahs_ and _ohs_ and _uhns_ mixed in with Snape’s name and various deities, until finally—Harry arched, whimpering. “ _W-wait—not on the rug!_ ” he cried.

Snape blinked in surprise, but Harry was already climaxing, his warm cock spasming, trapped between their bodies. Before Harry could object, Snape let loose his wrists and grabbed his hips, rutting against the boy’s firm stomach. He felt his cock slipping through Harry’s seed and followed him quickly into heady orgasm.

Finally he slowed, panting. “Not on the rug?” he repeated.

Harry frowned.

“ _Not on the rug?_ ” Snape had to laugh. “Whatever happened to ‘fuck me, you vicious beast, fuck me harder’? Suddenly your wild cry in the throes of desperate passion is ‘ _Wait, not on the rug?_ ’”

Harry sat up, scowling. “That rug cost you two hundred Galleons,” he noted dryly.

Snape stopped laughing. Harry was literally dripping with come. “Not on the two hundred Galleon rug!” Severus yelled, leaping to knock the boy off. They came to rest on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Harry was obviously trying to look annoyed, but the edge of his mouth kept twitching. “’S a good rug, innit?” he asked cheekily.

“I’m not going to have to rub your nose in anything, am I?”

Harry looked pensive, scratching his ear. “Give me another half hour and I might be up for that,” he allowed.

Snape felt the anger drain away. He was too sated to sustain it and besides, the rug had served its purpose. A little stain or two wouldn’t hurt it anyway. He looked back at Harry. “Well, we’re back on your Bolivian Rosewood floor,” he said.

Harry glanced down, then back up again with an impish grin. “Exotic _and_ erotic,” he said.

“Indeed.” The hardwood floors, Snape reflected, were much harder to stain.

They certainly had fun trying, though.

* * * * *

Snape paced, dragging his hands through his hair. He wasn’t irritated. He wasn’t frustrated. He wasn’t annoyed. He was, in fact, absolutely exasperated! “Potter, are you dense? Don’t answer that. The point is, we can’t install a window. We’re in the dungeons, in case you hadn’t noticed. Do you really want a stunning and panoramic view of the local earthworms?”

“Can’t be worse than looking at _you_ ,” Harry shot back.

“You are asking for a spanking,” Snape warned him.

“No, I’m asking for a window,” Harry said patiently. “One is a glass-covered opening in the wall made to let in light, the other is a slap on the backside for punishment. Fancy a smart bloke like you not knowing the difference.”

Severus gave the boy a look. It had been several weeks since they’d done any upgrades, and plainly Harry was getting testy. But really, a window made no _sense_. “A window in the dungeons wouldn’t let in any light,” he argued. “Because the dungeons are _underground_. That’s the point of a dungeon!”

Harry held up a hand. “We could charm it,” he suggested. “I’ve seen it done. We could fix it so that it looks out at the Quidditch pitch.”

Snape opened his mouth to reject the notion, then suddenly stopped. If it overlooked the Quidditch Pitch, Snape could sneak in during the day and watch Potter on his broom. And Potter did look awfully good on his broom. The boy didn’t like Severus to watch him teach on the ridiculous and entirely fallacious allegation that Severus criticized him and bossed him about in front of the students, so Severus didn’t get to see Harry play Quidditch as often as he’d like. “Very well,” he finally managed. He did hope he sounded blasé about the prospect, and not as though he’d be pressed against the window most afternoons, staring and drooling and quite possibly indulging in marathon wanks.

Harry beamed. “The contractors will be here to install it in fifteen minutes.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I would have _hated_ to have had to turn them away,” Harry quickly added. “I’m lucky you’re so reasonable and good to me, not to mention well-endowed.”

Well. There really wasn’t any arguing with that.

It ended up being a monstrous plate-glass thing about eight feet high, with lots of lead piping in a rather decorative pattern. Snape was not going to admit that he liked it, because that would give Potter the upper hand, but it fit the ambiance of his rooms rather well. Like him, it sort of _loomed._

It also malfunctioned. It simply would not stay charmed to Harry’s preferred setting, high above the Quidditch pitch. Instead it would sneakily jump about, sometimes overlooking the entrance to the castle, sometimes abruptly facing the Forbidden Forest. This annoyed Potter, who had to correct the thing with a thump to the frame, but amused Severus, who always liked seeing Potter mildly annoyed.

After all, it didn’t do to let the brat get _too_ spoilt.

They drank champagne in Bauhaus chairs as they watched the sky streak with shades of reds and purples, dusk beginning to settle over the castle grounds.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Harry said smugly.

“You have to be joking. God must be a Gryffindor. Look at all the clashing colours,” Snape huffed with a dismissive gesture. “God has absolutely no taste.”

Harry almost snorted champagne up his nose. “I think you’re right,” he said, laughing. “Look at all the stupid wars and whatnot.”

“He’s obviously much more interested in dramatic fight scenes than cohesive storytelling,” Snape agreed, feeling pleasantly buzzed from the drink. “I mean, take the fifteen hundreds. What was that about?”

Still chortling, Harry scooted his chair closer to Severus’ and rested his head on the man’s arm. “You’re extra sexy when you blaspheme,” he teased. “Want to bugger me up against the window?”

“And they say romance is dead,” Snape remarked. However, Harry’s nude body _would_ look especially good in the light of the setting sun. “Get naked,” he suggested.

Gleefully, Harry whipped off his robes. He wasn’t wearing anything at all underneath.

“Fairly certain I’d agree, were you?” Snape asked, amused, as Harry pulled him out of his chair.

“Yes. And there _is_ that decorating kink,” Harry told him. “What’s the point of new furnishings if we’re not going to fuck all over them?”

“I suppose enjoying them for their aesthetic appeal is out of the question.”

Harry leant back against the window, his body now just a slim shadow against the dramatic backdrop of the setting sun. “Do you admire _me_ for _my_ aesthetic appeal?” he queried archly.

“Sometimes,” Snape admitted. “When you’re naked and lubed up and your hair isn’t waging an all out bloody war on gravity, conditioner, and anything remotely resembling style.”

“Oh, _good_ ,” Harry said sweetly. “’Cause I’m feeling pretty aesthetic tonight, and I like to think I’m bloody appealing, too.” Winking at Snape, he turned to face the glass, bent slightly at the hip.

Looking closely, Snape could see a glistening streak down the back of the brat’s thigh. His stomach gave an excited lurch as he realized Harry was, indeed, already lubed up. Just for tonight, he could probably overlook the insane hair.

In short time, Harry was bent double, his hands splayed on the window glass, trying to find purchase as Snape rode him with wild abandon. There was nothing, _nothing_ so likely to make him lose all inhibition so much as Potter bent over, arse high in the air. It was simply sublime, and Snape made a note to take a picture so he could send it out in lieu of holiday cards come Christmas.

“Oooooo, Sev—sssev—erussss,” Harry stuttered, hips wiggling beneath Snape’s hands. They were soaring, looking out at the clouds, dizzy and exhilarated. Snape did wish the window would change soon though; every time he looked down, his palms began to sweat.

Of course, _Harry_ was slick all over, so that didn’t signify much. Harry was beautiful, absolutely stunning in the fading pink light, his sleek, limber form contorting with Snape’s thrusts, rising and falling on the balls of his feet, rippling and wriggling sensuously, then suddenly flat against the glass, driven forward by Snape’s surge of brutal appetite. How Snape enjoyed this, savouring the way Harry’s nipples pressed against the glass. God, he was so _exposed,_ so _laid bare_ , so very vulnerable, and so very Snape’s.

“You are a very pretty thing, you know?” he murmured in the boy’s ear.

Harry gave a hungry smile, bucking back and impaling himself deeper on Snape’s delighted cock. “Pretty, but dangerous,” he growled.

“Absolutely,” Snape managed. He planted a hand on the window on either side of Harry.

He pumped into Harry, enjoying how Harry’s body moved, sometimes in sync, sometimes counterpoint to his own. Harry moaned softly. It was such a nice position; he could grip Harry’s shoulders or hips or even his hair, and Harry loved it all equally.

Snape could tell when Harry was on the very verge of coming; his legs trembled, his cries became throaty, lusty, and his mouth rounded as it tended to do, forming one last _Oh._ Severus reached down to help him along, taking his cock in hand, but before Harry could reach climax, the window scene shifted again.

Instead of gazing out over the tranquil twilight sky above the Quidditch pitch, they found themselves staring at the castle entrance, where Draco Malfoy paused nearby, one hand on the door.

His eyebrows shot up.

Then the corner of his mouth curled smugly up as well.

And last, but not least, there was a definite general trend of upwards coming from Draco’s trousers, as well. He winked at them. _He-llo_ , he mouthed, and to Snape’s horror, his hand was sliding down, right down into—

“Oh, my _God!_ ” Harry yelped, and thumped the window-frame.

Immediately they were back floating among the Quidditch clouds once more.

“Curtains!” Harry shouted.

“What?” Severus replied, still a bit stunned and trying to catch up. “Is this a new curse I’m unaware of?”

“No! First thing tomorrow, we’re shopping for curtains.”

“Good idea.”

“I mean, just flashing Draco was lucky, considering it could have been one of the students.”

“Good lord, I hadn’t thought of that. And there have to be a limited number of situations in which Draco watching you have sexual relations might, by any stretch of the imagination, be considered lucky,” Snape mused.

“Yeah . . .” Harry said slowly, fisting his cock a little. There was a funny, abstract look in his eyes. “Want me on my back?” he offered.

Snape smiled. “For starters.”

With Harry on his back, eyes blazing, feet bobbing high in the air, Snape did not— _could not_ —last very long. He held Harry’s shoulders with trembling hands, stilling as orgasm overtook him.

Harry petted his face. “My turn?”

Snape knelt, bowing to taste that red, rampant prick, swallowing it down. Harry clutched Severus’ head, feet planted on the floor as he pushed into Snape’s mouth.

“Oh yes, that’s it,” Harry grunted.

Snape could tell he was trying to be gentle; his thrusts were short and shallow. Snape savoured him, tasting the thick pre-come, welcoming the slide of Harry down his throat.

Harry gasped when Snape swallowed, then rose just enough to swirl the tip of his tongue round the head of Harry’s cock.

“G-god. God, so good.”

Finally Harry came, teeth clenched, toes curled. Snape sat up, touching a hand to his mouth briefly. “You taste better with hardwood floors,” he teased.

Harry smiled, looking exhausted yet content. “I taste better with everything.”

Snape ran a drowsy hand through the boy’s unkempt hair. “You are, indeed, the perfect accessory.”

“The one that likes to fuck,” Harry added.

“Yes, unlike that frigid armoire. It’s _never_ in the mood,” Snape said wryly.

Harry came over, curling up until Snape was forced to push him away or wrap himself around the boy. Snape chose to wrap. “You are in a better mood these days,” he noted.

“As are you.”

Harry kissed the man on the nose. “I like it.”

* * * * *

“What do you think? I like the French damask fabric,” Harry said. He had a pile of curtains as high as his chin sitting in his lap.

“It’s lovely, dear,” Snape replied absently. He was busy reading the business section of the Prophet.

“Because it’s such a very _large_ window, I’m looking for a curtain that sort of softens the tone. I mean, that window is awfully dramatic. So if I can find something softer . . .”

“Um-hmm,” Snape answered, sipping his tea.

Harry huffed. “Of course I insist they be red and gold.”

“Naturally.”

“Also, I’ve invited Charlie Weasley over for a threeway; you’ll like that, won’t you?” Harry’s voice grew louder and more strident; really, he _did_ make it awfully difficult to browse the stock market returns. “He says he’s only had relations with dragons before, but I told him you weren’t much different and he’s sure he’s up for it. He’ll be bringing harnesses, whips and ointments, though I’m not sure about the hooks. I don’t feel comfortable blemishing our new wood by sticking hooks in the ceiling, do you? I did tell him to go ahead with the chains and of course you’ll enjoy the other fiddly things. I think they were supposed to be for cock and ball torture?”

Severus finally looked up. “What? What about cocks—and—and torture?”

Harry tilted his head to one side as it did whenever he wanted to appear especially ingenuous. “I told Charlie I thought it’d be fun.”

“You’d better not have done!”

Harry sighed. “You weren’t listening again.”

“I’m _sorry_ , my somewhat deviant darling, it’s only that curtains are not my forte. You can’t chop them or mince them or spend an hour watching them bubble, and though you can probably kill with one, it’d be a dreadfully mundane death. But do go on. I’ll listen, I promise.”

As Snape went back to his paper, Harry began digging through the fabric samples. “I don’t want anything too opaque or too bold. I want the window itself to be the focus.”

“Um-hmm.”

“I think I’d like something sheer,” Harry said several minutes later. Something about his voice made Snape look up.

“Sheer,” Snape repeated.

“Yes. Chiffon, actually. What do you think?”

“I think—I think—” Truth be told, Severus couldn’t think at all, with Harry buck naked save for a long bit of chiffon trailing down his creamy body. “I don’t think it exactly matches our ambiance.”

Harry frowned. “You don’t like the chiffon?”

“I did not say that. I did not mean to imply that in any way. The chiffon is divine. I merely think that your body puts that window to shame. It looks quite sensual on you, but on plate glass?”

Harry swayed his hips, gathering the fabric to his body. “I like the chiffon on me,” he said. “It feels very sexy. Almost as if I’m wearing nothing but a dream. And it’s so soft against my skin,” he added, index finger wandering along his stomach.

Snape’s breath caught. “It certainly is nice. But what about velvet? I’m sure that would be nice as well.” He hunted in the pile until he found something acceptable, then held it out. Harry giggled breathlessly and dropped the chiffon, opening his arms to coax Severus to try the velvet on him. It was a _terrible_ colour—a gaudy purple that made Harry look like a stunted king. But it was apparent that Harry adored it.

“Mmmm, feels so soft,” he purred, writhing as he tried to caress every inch of his body with it. Snape helped by gathering a fold and grazing the back of Harry’s neck with the cloth.

“Do you like that?” he rasped.

“I do,” Harry breathed. “What else have we got?”

Snape’s eyes widened. “Silk!”

Harry grinned, still fondling the velvet at his shoulders, as the man ran to the pile of swatches and dug rabidly through. “Here, silk! Trimmed in lace at the edges.” His smile was hungry. “You’d look good in lace.”

Harry allowed himself to be gathered up and lovingly pulled into the silk. “It’s cool,” Harry whispered as the silk glided over his naked flesh. “It’s nice and cool where I’m real warm.”

Snape chuckled, using the ends of the fabric to tickle Harry’s nipples into stiff little peaks. He bent to nip one, and Harry gave a small cry of surprise.

“Apologies. You were putting me in mind of meringues.”

Harry wound himself into the silk, letting it slither erotically around him. Snape reached down between Harry’s legs, squeezing just a little.

Harry gasped.

“It is good there, isn’t it?” Snape took hold of the fabric, of Harry’s cock, of everything, and began working his fist up and down, gently, carefully.

“It feels like I’m wearing a second skin,” Harry moaned.

Snape said nothing. He was completely intent on the darkening spot on the silk, evidence of Harry’s arousal. He was also absorbed in the thick muscle in his hand, warm and eager, damasked in glossy, wonderful silk that seemed to caress his fingertips.

“I like it,” Snape said.

“Me too,” Harry replied, and collapsed in his arms.

Snape held him there, stroking and stroking, watching Harry’s head loll, his throat stain pink, until—

“ _S-severus-oh_ ,” Harry gasped, rising onto his tiptoes as the fabric turned a shade darker. Snape kissed his neck, his erogenous zone, delighted to be discovering so many new and interesting things Harry enjoyed. Finally Harry sank back to earth. “That was _wonderful_.”

Snape smiled. “I think we’ll take the silk, then?”

“Oh yeah. _Definitely_ the silk.”

* * * * *

Snape sat at the bar at the Hog’s Head beside Draco, nursing a bruised ego and a large brandy. It had been a month since the curtains had been installed. There was really nothing left to do. The bathroom was a modern marvel, all glass and marble. The dungeons had been redone from floor to ceiling. Stunning art had been tastefully displayed here and there, but Potter insisted he didn’t want any more.

Last night, Severus had got so desperate he’d even put forth the idea of potted plants, which earned him a strange look from Harry, who’d been ‘too tired’ to partake in any carnal games.

“He’s losing interest quickly,” Snape moaned, head in hands.

“Bring me in,” Draco suggested. “We can tag team him. He’ll never get bored again, I promise.”

“Shut up, you reprobate.”

Draco shrugged. “You’d enjoy it. Promise.”

“Nggh.” At the same time, it might actually be enjoyable. Draco was an absolute sinner in every possible sense, and that likely translated to bedtime fun in a good way. And he really was rather pretty. However, Potter was already unhappy with Snape, and surely bringing Draco round would only sour him further.

No, Snape would just have to think of something else.

“Maybe I could add an extension.”

“What, in the dungeons?” Draco said doubtfully.

Snape stood up, heaving a sigh. “I’m going to the furniture store. I’ll think of something,” he swore.

“Good luck,” Draco told him. “You know where my rooms are!” he added loudly as Snape swept away. “You know. Last resort and all that!” Snape ignored him.

* * * * *

When Severus finally stumbled back to his rooms, he had a new table clutched under one arm.

Harry looked up from his magazine, astonished. “What are you doing? I though you were in Hogsmeade, taking a break.”

Severus trembled. “Danish modern. Table. For beside the bed?” he added hopefully.

Harry gave this some consideration. “All right. It will fit well, I think. You have good taste.”

“Yes,” Snape agreed. He set the thing near Harry’s feet and knelt beside it, running a tongue over his lips. “You really like it?” He ran a rapacious finger over the blonde wood. “It’s Scandinavian,” he whispered.

Harry wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, those scandalous Scandinavians,” he said. “What d’you want to do with it?”

Snape swallowed, his mouth dry. He usually left it up to Harry. He honestly wasn’t good at coming up with provocative things to do with your average bedside table. This was usually Harry’s forte. But now, of course, Harry was looking at him expectantly, and Snape did not want to let him down. More than anything, he wanted to keep Harry’s interest, to make him think Snape exciting despite their many long years together. He had to think of something.

Snape turned the table over. “I’ll sodomize you with the table leg,” he offered desperately.

Harry’s mouth worked at that, but nothing seemed to come out. “Er . . . you’ll . . . what?”

“I can oil it up, you see? I know you fine that fine grain utterly irresistible. Look at the sheen,” Snape urged. “Look at the sleek simplicity. Don’t you want it thrust into you, your body begging for more?”

Harry stared blankly at the table, his expression faintly horrified. “No,” he finally managed. “But thanks for the offer.”

“What?”

The boy came forward to kneel and cover Severus’ hands with his own. “Okay, I’m sorry, but this is starting to go too far. It has to stop _now_. I do _not_ want to be buggered with a table leg. I liked the redecorating but . . . um . . . I didn’t really like it all _that way_. You know?”

Severus sank back on his heels, baffled.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t intend to lie to you, exactly. It’s just that you got this weird idea in your head and I didn’t know what to say. And then you said you’d redecorate, and I always wanted to. So . . . I kind of went along with it.”

“You mean you _never_ had any sort of fetish for all this?” Snape exclaimed, outraged. “You faked a decorating fetish to trick me into installing hardwood floors?”

Harry had the grace to look apologetic. “I didn’t have any decorating fetish. Not at first, anyway.”

“What the devil does that mean— _not at first?_ ”

The boy gave a quasi-shrug. “Well . . . it _did_ feel awfully good,” he admitted. “It wasn’t so much the actual things, like the chairs or whatever, but when you really got into it—when you sort of loomed over me, looking at me with your eyes all narrow, touching me in new, exciting ways . . . And it really _was_ fun to do something so different. It was sort of hot to take something that you don’t think of as traditionally sexy and use it in a frisky, sexy way,” Harry pointed out.

Snape couldn’t argue with that.

“And I really loved the bit with the fabric samples,” Harry added, ducking his head shyly.

“But— _why_?”  


Harry made a frustrated gesture. “Do you remember that night? The one before you thought about redecorating as a tool to arouse me? It was that night you came home late from work, and I was already in bed.”

“Yes, and I got in bed with you and tried to make a romantic move and you screamed like a banshee.”

Harry planted his hands on his hips, glaring fiercely at his lover. “ _No._ If you’ll recall, you climbed into bed with your frosty feet and offered me a line of irresistibly romantic poetry.”

Snape shifted uncomfortably. He couldn’t recollect exactly what he’d said, but he didn’t remember any poetry.

“You got into bed, stuck your blocks of ice against the back of my legs and said, ‘You want to fuck?’ And yet, _somehow_ , I failed to swoon, no roses or bluebirds appeared, and I just wanted to thwap you upside your thick head. And you _always_ do that. You hardly bother with foreplay anymore.”

“I come home too late to have energy for foreplay,” Snape half-heartedly argued.

“You’ve managed it lately.”

“Well. I suppose it is one area in which I could make an effort.”

Harry looked up at him, his expression turning softer, more loving. “That’s really all I’m asking for,” he said. “I _loved_ that you wanted to redecorate. Not just because I was getting a nicer home out of it, and not because I enjoy spending money, and not because I hated the old dungeons just that much. I liked it because you were showing me attention. You were doing it _because of me_. You wanted to make me happy, just like back when we first started seeing each other.” Harry sighed and his shoulders sagged, head hanging. “I liked it because you made me feel important again.”

Snape reached out to touch his arm. “You _are_ important. I value you above anything else. I just assumed you’d grown bored with me.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t exactly bored. It’s just hard to feel sexy and romantic when a bloke crawls into bed with you and wants to sodomize you without preamble. I mean, at least take me to dinner once in a while.”

“Better than going out and getting drunk with Draco and whinging about not getting enough sex,” Snape admitted.

Harry leaned against him. “I would hope so. But . . . things didn’t turn out badly, right? The sex has been _great._ And I got a beautiful new home out of it, and I just can’t wait to have people over so I can show it off.”

Snape groaned loudly. “Visitors! I loathe having visitors. Why on earth can’t you settle for just the two of us knowing what a gorgeous place we have?”

“Because sometimes I like to share. And I like them to see what a great thing I’ve got. You know, nothing in life is really fabulous unless someone else appreciates it, too,” Harry told him with big, serious eyes.

Snape only groaned again.

Harry ran a casually sexy hand through his hair. “Besides,” he growled. “I do like the idea of inviting people in. Don’t you think that might be fun? I mean, sure it’d be fun to show off the hardwood floors, but there are other things we could show off, too.”

Snape tilted his head to one side. “What do you mean by that?”

Harry pushed Severus into a Bauhaus chair, then climbed into his lap. “I’m saying I like showing off,” he whispered. “Mightn’t it be . . . _fun_ to show off with someone watching, Severus? Draco liked watching the other day. You could just tell he was all kinds of turned on by it. So what if we invited him in and let him watch just a little bit?”

Snape swallowed. On the one hand, Draco was an incorrigible pervert and oughtn’t be encouraged. On the other hand, Harry was a developing pervert, and as such, _should_. “That does have its appeal,” he acknowledged.

Harry slid a hand down Snape’s chest and stomach, cupping the emergent bulge in his robes. “And, after all, we have _so much_ to show off,” he crooned, poking his tongue out to run it over his lip. “The new chairs. The floors. The rug . . . how reasonable and sweet and well-endowed my boyfriend is.”

Snape would put up with even Draco if it meant being orally stimulated and called well-endowed. Potter did know how to stroke his ego, among other things. “So now you’re developing an exhibitionist urge?” he asked sceptically.

“If you’ll let me, I’m sure I’ll acquire all _sorts_ of new kinks,” Harry assured him.

Snape had to laugh. “Very well. I certainly don’t want to discourage _that_.”

“Good!” Harry chirped. “I’ve already invited Draco to dinner this weekend.”

Snape groaned. “You knew I’d say yes to that as well, didn’t you?”

“I was pretty sure,” Harry said, eyes twinkling. Then he sobered a little. “You’re not angry with me, are you?”

“Over inviting Draco to watch us have sexual relations? Strangely, no. I enjoy showing you off, new furniture or no. And Draco will think he’s died and gone to heaven.”

“Not that,” Harry told him. “I meant . . . are you angry with me for tricking you into redecorating?”

“No,” Snape said, giving Harry a good, thorough kiss.

“Really?” Harry asked, rather breathlessly, when Snape pulled away.

“Really. Truth be told,” Snape added with a dry smile, “I rather _liked_ your decorating scheme.”

 

-end-

  



End file.
